


The Improvement Of Understanding

by cuttooth



Series: An Essay Concerning Human Understanding [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon Asexual Character, Dubious Consent, Internalized Acephobia, M/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Oral Sex, Peter Lukas is a creep, Trans Male Character, boundary violation, sexuality shaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 12:45:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18739303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuttooth/pseuds/cuttooth
Summary: “Let me talk to him,” Jon demands, shrugging his hand off. Peter gives that low, amused chuckle again.“I will, Jon,” he says. “You have my word. But first you and I need to come to an understanding. You seem to be under the impression that I’ve kidnapped Martin, or coerced him into this situation. That is just not true. Martin chose this, and I need you to reallyreallygrasp that. So you can speak with him, in just a little while. All right?”*Peter helps Jon to understand the situation.





	The Improvement Of Understanding

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Exces_KaboomBOOM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exces_KaboomBOOM/gifts).



> This was inspired by some gorgeous Peter/Martin art by Exces_KaboomBOOM, which unfortunately I cannot link as it was shared privately. However it was beautifully sexy, and far more wholesome than what I ended up writing. I just can't help making things sad and creepy. (Sorry!) 
> 
> Please read the warning tags, this is PWP but not really the fun kind. I have no idea who the audience for this is, honestly. 
> 
> Also this is my first crack at writing Martin as trans (SUCH GORGEOUS ART) so apologies for anything problematic or inaccurate. I get most of my education from sex blogs and reading smut, so I'm happy to be corrected! 
> 
> Title is from _An Essay concerning Human Understanding_ by John Locke, because I like to be pretentious with my smut.

“...still don’t know what Peter Lukas is planning, or what role Martin plays, but I don’t doubt it’s something sinister.”

Jon pauses, rubbing his thumb and forefinger into the corners of his eyes. He is terribly tired, and he really should have left this statement for tomorrow. But it had appeared right at his desk wrapped in cobwebs, and something had urged him to commit it to tape this evening. As it turns out, it was another statement featuring the Lukas family’s involvement, and Jon doesn’t think that’s a coincidence. He sighs, the deep ache he’s been trying to ignore rising up in his chest once again.

“I _need_ to speak to Martin again, try to convince him - ”

“Hi, Jon,” says a voice right at his shoulder. Jon startles like a cat and spins around. The man standing there is wearing a friendly smile that doesn’t go near his eyes, his hands tucked into his trouser pockets.

“You don’t mind if I call you Jon, do you?”

“Mister Lukas, I presume?” Jon says coldly, regaining his composure. This is _certainly_ not a coincidence.

“Please, call me Peter. I thought it was time we finally got acquainted.”

“Right as I was talking about you?” Jon laughs, unamused. “And after not showing your face for months. Have you been _spying,_ Mister Lukas?”

Peter’s smile widens, and Jon is reminded of the way a shark’s mouth splits, sharp and deadly.

“I like to keep abreast of things,” he says. “And I wanted to reassure you, Jon. I know you’re concerned about Martin, but there’s no need. He’s _fine,_ honestly. Thriving, even.”

“What are you doing with him?” Jon demands. He doesn’t have time for Lukas' taunts, and the compulsion rolls thick off his tongue with the words. Peter doesn't even flinch, just gives a low chuckle.

“You’re very possessive, for someone who isn’t even his boss anymore. What claim _do_ you have to Martin, again?”

“I’m his - his friend,” says Jon, trying to sound like he’s sure of it. Like it isn't just something he hopes is true.

“I see,” Peter says, nodding sagely. “Well if you really want to know what he’s doing, let’s go and see him.”

“Right now?”

“Unless you’re too busy?” Peter says with mock concern. Jon doesn’t respond to that, just switches off the tape recorder and stands up. He feels a sudden odd sensation, as if his ears had popped, but throughout his entire body. Jon shakes his head slightly, and when he looks up Peter is smiling at him again.

“All right?” he asks.

“Fine.”

He follows Lukas upstairs and quickly realizes they are not heading for Elias’ office but up to the second floor. They pass a few members of Institute staff in the corridor, who walk past without acknowledging or even looking at them, and Jon is starting to suspect it’s not due to him this time. The air is getting chillier, and there is a sense of vacant distance, like Jon is very far away from everything.

“This is your god’s domain, then?” he says eventually. Peter glances over his shoulder carelessly.

“We’re only a little way inside,” he replies. “If we were all the way in, you wouldn’t be able to see those people. And you’d already be curled on the floor in despair, someone lonely as you.”

Jon shrugs that off, because if Lukas wants to threaten him that’s fine. Except -

“Have you been keeping Martin in here? Is that why nobody’s seen him?”

“Oh no,” Peter says cheerfully. “Martin’s paid a few visits, but he’s certainly not been _kept_ here.”

Jon glowers at that, but keeps his mouth shut. He can ask Martin himself, if this isn’t all one of Lukas’ tricks. He knows better than to trust this man, but his desire to see Martin is more of an absolute need at this point. The past few weeks, Jon hasn’t even been able to **_know_ ** where Martin is, to know he’s still around. He needs to know Martin’s okay.

“Right in here,” Peter says, and waves Jon into an open office door. Jon stops in his tracks as he steps around the door frame and sees Martin, seated behind a desk, working at a computer. His heart contracts at the familiarity of it, Martin’s earnest, focused expression, the little furrow between his eyebrows as he types.

“Martin - ” he says, feeling oddly breathless. Martin does not look up.

“He can’t see you,” Peter tells him, laying a heavy hand on Jon’s shoulder. “Or hear you. Shame really, I know he _loves_ your voice.”

“Let me talk to him,” Jon demands, shrugging his hand off. Peter gives that low, amused chuckle again.

“I will, Jon,” he says. “You have my word. But first you and I need to come to an understanding. You seem to be under the impression that I’ve kidnapped Martin, or coerced him into this situation. That is just not true. Martin _chose_ this, and I need you to really _really_ grasp that. So you can speak with him, in just a little while. All right?”

He shuts the door firmly, and Martin’s head snaps up. Then Jon hears the sound of a lock clicking with sharp finality, and sees Peter slip a key into his pocket. No way out then, until Peter Lukas gets what he wants.

“Peter?”

Peter takes a step around Jon towards the desk, and Martin’s eyes fix on him. He gives a soft huff of relief.

“I’ve told you to stop doing that,” he says. It’s the same tone of voice he used to use when someone forgot to put the paper cutter back where it belonged, and Jon feels a twinge in his chest. Jon circles the room to get closer to Martin, to make sure he at least _looks_ okay, as Lukas walks around the back of the desk. He doesn’t know what game this monster is playing, but he can wait it out.

“Sorry,” Peter says without remorse, and leans over Martin's shoulder to peer at the computer screen. “What are you working on?”

“Well the program we’ve been using to track time off requests is completely out of date, everyone’s just been using paper forms which Elias was apparently _fine_ with, but it’s completely inefficient. So I’m trying to digitize - ”

Martin breaks off with a yelp as Peter bites down on his earlobe, apparently hard enough to hurt. Jon’s heart rate jumps and he takes a step forward before he realizes there’s nothing he can do. And that Martin only seems surprised, not distressed. He pushes Peter away with casual familiarity, and Peter laughs.

“Ow,” Martin complains. “Also, I am _working,_ Peter.”

“Very hard,” Peter agrees, nuzzling against his neck. “Which is why I thought you could use a break.”

Martin grumbles a little as Peter kisses down the length of his throat, but he is also tipping his head away to allow Peter access. Jon’s stomach turns over uncomfortably as he realizes what game Peter Lukas is playing. _Martin chose this, and I need you to really, really grasp that._

He needs to get out of here. Not engage in this sick game, this violation of Martin’s privacy. He needs to leave, except he can’t, can he? He’s trapped, not only by the locked door, but by this liminal space he’s been exiled to. He could turn away, refuse to look, but it’s pointless. Lukas can leave him here as long as he likes, with the cold and isolation closing in around him, until Jon gives him what he wants, and a rib bone won’t save him this time. Jon doesn’t know how he **_knows_ ** that, but he does, and as Peter smirks at him past Martin’s face, his fingers threading through Martin’s hair, Jon knows _he_ is just as aware.

Peter is leaning over Martin by now, braces his hands against the chair back and kisses him. Jon watches Martin’s eyes close, his mouth open, kissing Peter deeply. Martin’s hands come up to grasp Peter’s biceps. Jon’s never thought before about what Martin would look like, being kissed, but now he can’t stop looking. Can’t stop listening to the little pleasured sounds he’s making against Peter’s mouth. Martin’s face is flushed when they break apart.

“All right,” he says firmly. “That’s enough. I really do need to work.”

“I’m your manager,” Peter tells him. “And I’m giving you permission to take a break.”

He lifts one knee up onto the chair, nudging it in between Martin’s legs. Leans in to kiss him again. Martin lets him, tilts his head back, gives a gasp as Peter’s thigh pushes further between his own, pressing against his groin. Shifts a little against it, with a soft exhalation, and Peter gives a satisfied chuckle.

“See? I know what you need, Martin.” His eyes flicker to Jon as he whispers in Martin’s ear, just loud enough for Jon to hear. “The door’s locked. We’re all alone.”

Martin’s face turns towards the door, towards Jon, for just a second. In that instant Jon sees a welter of emotions passing over his face, hesitance and desire and guilt, and under it all something that looks a lot like terrible, bone deep loneliness. Martin bites his lip and nods, turning back to Peter.

“Lovely,” Peter says. “Take your clothes off, then.”

Martin does, quickly, and Jon would give anything not to be watching this, this vulnerable intimacy he isn’t supposed to be witnessing. Not to see every inch of Martin’s pale skin exposed, scattered all over with freckles. Not to **_know_** everything about Martin’s body as he sees it: the faded surgical scars on his chest _(the absolute relief he’d felt at finally reaching the top of that NHS waiting list),_ the pale silvery stretch marks down his flanks and his inner thighs _(he still hates them years after his last growth spurt)._

It is an absolute violation, even more than seeing Martin naked without his knowledge, but Jon can’t stop it, the **_knowing_ ** seeping unbidden into his head. Can’t stop looking, as Peter manhandles Martin onto the desk, his own shirt hanging open. They kiss again, Martin running his hands over Peter’s thick, hairy torso, pushing the shirt off his shoulders and kneading the hard muscle there. Peter’s body has marks of its own _(a puckered scar beneath his ribcage that might be from a bullet, a faded blue compass tattooed on his arm)_ but Jon **_knows_ ** nothing about those, blank static hissing in his consciousness as he looks at them. Peter breaks the kiss with a satisfied hum, brushes his lips hungrily across Martin’s jaw.

“Oh, I’m going to eat you for dinner,” he says, and then drops to his knees in front of Martin, hands pushing his thighs apart. Jon can see it all, can see too much, as Peter presses his face into Martin’s pubic mound. Martin’s cock is swollen and red, standing proud of its hood, and he gasps as Peter licks around it. Moans as Peter draws it entirely into his mouth, leaning back with his hands on the desk, grinding his hips forward into Peter’s mouth. Peter keeps licking and sucking at the jut of his cock, making low, rumbling sounds of pleasure. His hands slide up along the inside of Martin’s thighs, his thumbs rubbing along the glistening edges of Martin’s slit, before Jon sees him push a finger inside.

“Aah, don’t,” Martin gasps, pushing Peter’s hand away from him. “You know I don’t like it.”

Peter lifts his face and gives a smile that is not at all apologetic.

“Sorry,” he says, sounding pleased, and Jon has never loathed someone as much as he does in that instant. Peter drops his head again to kiss and bite at the inside of Martin’s thighs, while his fingers work urgently against Martin’s cock, his thumb rubbing at the base.

Martin’s whole body is flushed and trembling, his hips rolling against Peter’s hand, panting with his lips parted. Jon feels hot shame rising in the back of his skull at this betrayal, but he can’t tear his eyes away. It isn’t long before Martin’s hips start to buck helplessly against Peter’s fingers, his head tipped back. That finally is too much, too intimate, and Jon squeezes his eyes shut against the vulnerability of Martin’s orgasm, though he can still hear Martin’s desperate, breathy moans as he comes.

“Beautifully done,” he hears Peter say, and Martin gives a weak laugh. Jon reluctantly opens his eyes, and sees Peter still on his knees. He leans in to give a little lick to Martin’s still swollen cock, and Martin shivers.

“Hop down, then,” Peter suggests, “And turn around. I want to have a look at that lovely arse.”

Martin does, without protest, bends over the desk and pushes his arse out for Peter’s attention. He rests his head on his folded arms, eyes closed and expression unreadable. Peter grabs two handfuls immediately, palming the freckled flesh of Martin’s buttocks possessively.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs. “How could any man see this arse and not want to fuck it, hmm?”

He spares a sidelong glance at Jon, smirking coldly at him. The subtext is hardly subtle, and Jon returns his gaze with as much ice as he can muster, trying to ignore the shame still crawling down his spine. Martin, unaware, is making small humming sounds as Peter continues to knead his arse, and then moans low in his throat as his buttocks are parted and Peter’s face presses between them. Jon cannot see as much of what’s happening this time, but he can see Martin’s face, the look of building pleasure as Peter’s mouth works on him with soft, wet sounds.

He sees, as well, when Peter pulls back and slides a finger lightly up along Martin’s wet slit, not pushing inside, then circles the slick digit against his arsehole, pressing it in. Martin gives a little hiss of discomfort.

“Lubricant, Peter,” he says sharply. “You left it in the desk drawer last time. And get a condom while you’re at it.”

“Yes, sir,” Peter says, amused, and stands up to fetch the items, stripping of the rest of his clothes as he does. His cock is thick and hard, and he gives it a little tug as he returns around the desk. He slicks two fingers and pushes them slowly into Martin’s arsehole. This time Martin just gives a low pleased sigh, and Peter starts to fuck into him steadily. His cock nudges up against Martin’s buttocks, sliding insistently against his skin.  

“I can’t wait to get my cock into you,” Peter tells him, running his free hand over the pale skin of Martin’s back. “Fill up that gorgeous tight arsehole of yours.”

“Hmm, maybe you should get on with it then,” Martin suggests lightly, rocking back against Peter’s fingers. Peter laughs.

“You’re full of good ideas today,” he says. Withdraws his fingers and quickly rolls the condom over his cock, then slicks more of the lubricant onto it. Lines up against Martin’s arsehole and slowly works his cock inside, while Martin pants softly and pushes back against him. Once he is buried in Martin to the hilt, he pauses, and looks over at Jon with a smirk.

“Beautiful,” he says. “You were just made to be fucked, weren’t you, Martin?”

“Mmm,” is all Martin says in response, wriggling his hips a little. Peter leans over his back, kissing his shoulders affectionately.

“You were,” he repeats. “Don’t undersell yourself. Pity your Archivist could never appreciate that. All he knows how to do is _watch.”_

“Don’t talk about him,” Martin snaps, his voice hard and brittle. “Not when we’re - ” He breaks off.

“Fucking?” Peter supplies, sparing Jon another smug glance.

Jon wants to kill him, with his own bare hands. Would sell himself to the Slaughter right now, for a chance to tear Peter Lukas’ throat out with his teeth. He doesn’t care what Lukas says about him, he’s heard it all before and thought far worse of himself. He knows he’s damaged that way. But using Martin like this, _exposing_ him like this, for this petty game of dominance, is unforgivable. Jon knows he’ll never forgive himself for his part, for letting himself be tricked into this in his desperation to just _see_ Martin. He can feel tears of frustration and guilt stinging his eyes, his fingernails digging into his palms with anger.

“Just - don’t, all right?” Martin says in that same flat, fragile tone.

“Fine,” says Peter. “We have better things to be doing anyway.” 

He anchors Martin’s hip with one hand, and starts to fuck him in hard, fast strokes. Reaches his other hand around to press between Martin’s spread thighs, and Martin whimpers and starts to move his hips, grinding against Peter’s palm. His head tosses restlessly against his folded arms, turning his face towards Jon, and Jon can see Martin’s eyes gleaming wetly even as his mouth goes slack with pleasure. Jon's chest aches, deeper than before, hollow and grieving, and he knows it isn’t just the Lonely. It’s the weight of everything he had and didn’t realize, everything he wants and can’t have.

Jon doesn’t look away this time as Martin orgasms, his face pained and euphoric, his whole body shaking. A few moments later Peter comes with a soft grunt, and stands there with his cock still buried inside Martin, running his hands over Martin’s back and buttocks and thighs. He turns his head to look directly at Jon, eyes cold as the Arctic ocean, and says:

“Do you want to talk to him?”

Martin sighs wearily as Jon shakes his head desperately, backs away and flattens himself against the wall. Because he knows that Peter Lukas would have no qualms about pulling him out of the Lonely right here and now, and then Martin would know what he's seen. What he's _done._ Jon will never forgive himself for this, and the only thing worse is imagining Martin finding out. Imagining his pain and humiliation, and there is no way Jon can inflict that on him, even if this is his only chance to speak to Martin. He _can’t._

“I told you, Peter,” Martin says, exasperated. “I’m not going to speak to him. I understand what’s at stake. Now, would you mind getting off me? I do need to get some work done.”

Peter smiles, patting Martin fondly on the arse as his cock slips out. 

“Good,” he says, his eyes still fixed on Jon. “I’m glad we understand each other.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr [@cuttoothed](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/cuttoothed).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] The Improvement Of Understanding](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21774166) by [GoLBPodfics (GodOfLaundryBaskets)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GodOfLaundryBaskets/pseuds/GoLBPodfics)




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